DIRTY SHEETS

Dirty Sheets. 

 

What can be said about the broken pieces of the human heart? The carcasses of human experience, the remnants of fractured bonds that were once made and unmade? What can be said of the man that battles; battles the world and all the corners designed or designated? They rise, they fall, they sink, they swim, they drink, they smoke, they blow lines, and crash and burn. What can be said of that internal war within, un-won but still fighting, and struggling, and beating. Two animals in a cage stained with sweat and blood and shattered egos of a child’s lost dreams.  

 

What of those pre-sleep conversations inside ones head; to do this or to do that, go here or go there, to be this or be that, or to not be at all; the tug of war between winning and succumbing to loss, loss of time, loss of love, loss of self? The plague of being alive, able, and yet helpless at the same time begs for some kind of cure, some silver lining that we can dive into.  

 

Our days are a canvas to paint anew, but we slice it with knives of our defeat and self- sabotage, and forget that we make our own destiny, make our own peace.  A whole life to live, and yet where do we start? When the ends mark a beginning, or when a beginning becomes another dead end?  

 

Promises are made everyday, to others, to those we love, to our higher selves, and ruin comes when our baser instincts rage for immediate gratification. We have lost the ability to see the bigger picture, to plan for the long term, to progress from spontaneous stupidity to a higher spot on the mountain of growth. We fail to see that success comes with discipline, and an enormous will to be better, do better, live better. This is the condition of our lost generation. Big dreamers, poor planners, star seekers, gravediggers, freedom fighters, vice slavers. We are all tangled up in our dirty sheets.  We might just burn our houses down.  

 

There is smoke on the horizons of our future, and fires that must be put out. There is garbage we must throw out, and a million “what ifs” we must put to sleep. There is a whole life to survive, and to survive, changes must be embraced completely. There is divinity in being of the strong, of those that master themselves, of those who swim against the tide of idle acceptance of circumstance. The unbowed head will finish this race against time with gold around their necks.  

 

To remain unmoved is fatal for the spirit that wants to fly. To remain the same is a death sentence, and it is a slow wait for a foolish ending; a defeatist ending. We must not forget that our credits will go up; what do you want your credits to say? Who do you want to be before the lights go out? What piece of you will you leave behind, rusted metal in a scrap yard, or a tall tree standing strong in the sun?